


he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist

by trophygoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Rebels era, alternate universe in that obi-wan decided that actually revenge sounds really neat, both of those are like. technicalities i guess., canon-typical child abuse, fuck darth sidious all my homies hate darth sidious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trophygoth/pseuds/trophygoth
Summary: This moment is the first time he has ever experienced the instinctive desire to flee. But, because Maul is not a coward, he does not.Instead, he freezes.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul
Comments: 13
Kudos: 242





	he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started shipping obimaul because I thought it would be funny and hot and like. Now here I am a week and a half later, with Actual Emotions about them. Anyway I think they should be allowed to hunt down Sidious I think they deserve that. 
> 
> Title comes from "You Are Jeff" by Richard Siken.  
> Alternate title is "[maul voice] all i ask is for you to get to know me on a deep, intimate level while i resist and obstruct your every attempt to do so"

He is a child. Maul does not know his age, and nor, he supposes, does it matter. All that matters is that he is young enough not to have learned to always anticipate his master’s movements. He is a child, and he is hungry. He sits in a tree, ignoring the hunger pangs that have become an old friend. His fingers, still childishly clumsy, albeit less so than other children his age are allowed, grasp the branch above him. Below him is a pit, filled with spikes, and if he falls, his master will be disappointed in him. Maul has learned by now that disappointing his master is not something that is easy to walk away from. (His legs, cramped and burning from the length of time he has crouched on this branch, still carry the stiffness of bruising. He is still young enough that he allows himself to quantify this feeling as pain.)

So it is not the pit that keeps him in place, nor the spikes so desperate to meet him that he can feel their yearning. Can hear the way they whisper his name, beg for his friendship. 

He ignores them. Nothing else matters in this moment but his master’s ever elusive praise. (He is still young, and his hope, his desire for something he will never be allowed must be forgiven. He will learn. It is simply a matter of time.)

The branch he holds begins to move. Begins to squirm. With a shout, he looks from the pit of spikes up to his hands. That is when he realizes he does not hold a branch — the acid green snake wraps itself around his hands, stares at him, tongue flicking out to taste the air around him. He can see it considering him, can tell when its decision has been made. As he begins to fall back, it strikes, burying its fangs deep in his shoulder.

He is falling, and he can feel the venom begin to make its way through his body.

He is falling, and he awaits the piercing embrace of the spikes that call his name.

He is falling.

He is falling.

Without even a gasp, he awakens, muscles freezing in an attempt to not alert anyone else to his consciousness. Eyes open, rapidly take in his surroundings in an attempt to figure out where, exactly, he is. It takes but a moment for him to remember: he lies beside Obi-Wan Kenobi. He can hear the other man’s soft breaths, can feel his weight in the bed. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

The light from the moons makes its merry way through the window, bathing everything in a silver glow. Maul’s eyes dart left and right, as if making sure there is nobody else in the room but the two of them.

Only then does he breathe. And the breath comes out ragged, almost broken. His hands tighten into fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands as if to anchor him to the here and now.

The weight in the bed beside him shifts, and without looking, he can tell that Kenobi is awake, has turned to look at him.

“Maul?” His voice is thick with sleep, though Maul knows that he, too, is fully awake. “Is everything alright? You’re covered in sweat.”

His jaw clenches. He had not even noticed, too intent on everything else to pay attention to his own body. “It… is unimportant. Go back to sleep, Kenobi.”

The weight beside him shifts again, and his eyes dart over to see that Kenobi has sat fully up in bed, and is examining him with a slight frown. “I’m many things, Maul, but I’m not an idiot.”

A soft laugh. “Are you so sure?”

Kenobi sighs. His frown deepens, and his forehead creases. “I’ll not be going back to sleep until you tell me what’s wrong. Is it Sidious? Another Inquisitor? If we need to find another hiding place so soon, you had better tell me now.”

Maul curses Kenobi’s persistence. (Though he must admit that without it, he would not be  _ Kenobi _ .) He clenches his teeth, speaks without looking over. “It was a dream. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” The unspoken  _ and none of your business _ hangs in the space between them.

Several moments pass in silent stillness before Maul returns Kenobi's look. And he wishes he hadn’t, because the way that Kenobi looks back is unbearable. He looks open, unguarded — he looks like he  _ pities  _ Maul, and that is not something that he can allow.

Prosthetic legs swing over the edge of the bed and Maul sits upright, back to Kenobi so he does not have to see that look on his face. “As I said, it is unimportant. Go back to sleep.”

Another moment of stillness. Maul cannot bring himself to look back, to see the expression on his old enemy’s face. (His back to Kenobi, his refusal to even so much as glance back, is in itself an expression of trust.  _ I trust you enough to know you will not kill me with my back to you _ , it says.  _ I trust you with my life, and I would trust you with my death _ .)

They have been traveling together for over a standard year by this point, have been working to bring down the Sith and get their revenge, and Maul has never seen Kenobi look at him like that. Their relationship has never been one of softness, in part because Maul has never known softness. They have always been fierce with each other, have made their peace with a lack of peace. Find moments of closeness in grasping hands that push and pull, have found every tender place the other has and dug their fingers in as if desperate to prove that not even tenderness is safe from the claws of desire. They have spent more time biting than kissing. This is their relationship, if it can be called that. 

They are with each other out of convenience — Maul, because he is smart enough to know he cannot do this alone, because Kenobi hates the Sith Lord that sits at the head of the Empire just as much as he does, because through their togetherness they can help strike a blow at that which is despicable to them both, because without his old enemy he is nothing; Kenobi, because Maul is useful. (Maul does not know how to live a life without purpose, and he supposes that being used by Kenobi is better, at least, than being used by Sidious ever was. More pleasurable, in any case.)

Finally, Kenobi speaks once more, and the hesitation in his voice aches for Maul to hear. “I’ve never known you to be one to have bad dreams, Maul.” His voice holds the barest hint of humor. “In fact, I’ve never known you to be one to have dreams at all.”

Maul does not reply. He has never said as much to Kenobi, because frankly it has never been any of his business, but Maul does not, in fact, dream with any degree of frequency. Whether it is something that Sidious’ training forced out of him or his own body desperately trying to avoid reliving his training night after night is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is that he does not dream.

Which is, perhaps, why he is caught off guard as much as he is. Catching him off guard is not a common occurrence, not something that is easy to accomplish by any means. And yet here he sits, sweat drying on his bare skin as he struggles to shake off the realism of his dream. He can still feel the serpent’s fangs gifting his body with its paralyzing venom, can still feel the sensation deep in the pit of his stomach that is falling without end. He knows it to be untrue, knows that though the dream may have been built from an amalgamation of his own experiences, his own training, it was just a dream. Not something he should be fighting to unwrap sticky tendrils from his lungs.

And yet here he sits. Nearly shaking.

The slightest shift behind him, and his muscles tense as a cool hand gently, tentatively presses itself to his back.

When confronted with an intense and sudden danger, every being is faced with their choice of a panic response. Maul, typically, has instinctively fought. He does not understand the point in fleeing without taking a moment to assess the danger, without determining whether the danger is actually as life threatening as it seems at first glance. Fleeing instinctively is cowardice, and Maul is not a coward. He has made his way out of any number of situations by the skin of his teeth, covered in blood — both his own and others’ — surviving on instinct and rage.

This moment is the first time he has ever experienced the instinctive desire to flee. But, because Maul is not a coward, he does not.

Instead, he freezes.

Kenobi touches him carefully, gently, as if trying to  _ comfort _ him. And Maul does not know how to react. 

He has been touched many times over the course of his life. He has been touched many times by Kenobi, even.

And this is different. This does not carry the desperation with which they usually touch each other, it does not carry the harsh demands to which he has become so accustomed. 

Kenobi’s touch is not demanding in the slightest. It is an offer.

Maul realizes all at once his muscles have tensed so tightly that he has stopped breathing, that the blackness at the very edges of his vision are from a lack of the air he so desperately needs to live.

He takes a breath, and forces himself to look back at Kenobi — at Obi-Wan. The other man is looking at him with such care, such concern, that Maul wants to knock his hand away, wants to grab his saber staff and attack him if only so he will stop  _ looking at him like that _ . It is not pity in his eyes, but Maul does not have the words to describe what, exactly, it is.

Obi-Wan’s hand presses carefully, but insistently, against the bare skin of his back. Blue eyes meet yellow, and he speaks, voice low and hesitant, as if he is speaking to a wild animal, trying to convince it not to attack. “What do you need?” 

His question is simple. It isn’t a question of if Maul will allow him to assist, it’s a statement that he is here, that he is going to help, despite everything.

It takes a moment for Maul to find his voice, takes a moment to force it past a lump in his throat. Takes a moment to allow himself to speak the words, to allow himself this vulnerability with his oldest of enemies.

“I — hold me.”

Wordlessly, Obi-Wan pulls him closer, until Maul’s bare, sweat-cooled back meets the woven shirt that he wears to sleep. He wraps his arms around Maul’s midsection, anchoring him to existence, to a comfort he has never known. His lips find Maul’s neck, the pulse that beats there with every beat of his hearts, and he does not bite down. Instead, he presses a kiss there, so soft, the gentlest they have ever been with each other. They do not need to speak; they know each other well enough to know what this moment is, what it means.

After several long moments, Maul finds his shoulders relaxing, his muscles freeing themselves from their prison of tenseness. He breathes a little easier, allowing himself to accept this token of comfort, this depiction of safety. 

Obi-Wan’s presence pressed against his back is a symbol of protection, proof that he will never allow harm to come to Maul without his knowing. 

Maul is no fool. He knows that he and Kenobi cannot work in tandem forever. But he can be confident in his knowledge that no attack will ever come from behind. That if Kenobi is to attack him, is to kill him, he will at least have the decency to allow Maul to see it coming.

If Kenobi is to betray him, he will do it to his face.

Maul has come closer, now, to understanding love than he ever has before. He’s come closer to understanding why people are willing to die for another than he had thought possible.

At any moment, Obi-Wan could tear his throat with his teeth, knowing Maul would let him. And instead his lips press against the source of his life, ghosting over it like a meditation.

And Maul thinks this may be love, or as close to it as he is capable.


End file.
